


Don't Mention It

by xanderstock



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, F/M, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderstock/pseuds/xanderstock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PTSD is a funny thing. He can't go to... that place without having a panic attack and a half, he can't go back to Miami without spending the entire time convinced he was going to get shot back into those waters, anything to do with weapons and deserts were still out of the question - at this rate, he was just waiting for something to kick him out of his old-but-new home in LA.<br/>So, of course, on one stormy as hell night that something happens. How the hell he was found is beyond him, but lo and behold, Loki was back in his life with a warrant on his ass for breaking out of prison.<br/>In this story Tony comes face to face with all of his fears and issues from past trauma, action, drama, angst and even romance blooms in this tale - but if you asked the poor guy, he's probably say; "Seriously - Don't Mention It."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rapunzel, Get a Haircut!

_Ever hear the statement that starting a story is the hardest part of the journey? I have, and they weren't really joking. Granted, I could've started it any other way, or even gotten J.A.R.V.I.S. to write it for me – you know, get it out of the way – but this story I have to write on my own I think._

_Then again, how hard could it be? A pile of choice words, weld together a heap of sentences and program in a plot and you have a story right? Piece of cake._

_This brings us back to the issue of starting thing out again though, doesn't it? Honestly, it could have started anywhere. Hell, this story could start in my childhood, or the bastards who tried to kill me on my 'trusty uncle's' orders – that's a good spot too. But it's a bit far back – even... then is a bit too far back. You know, gods, aliens – I still don't really want to think about it honestly. Just because these attacks have laid off over the last two years doesn't mean I'm A-Okay with mentioning it._

_Let's just leave that topic alone._

_Anyway, this is basically the story about how I mostly recovered from the whole god part of New York... see, I said it – happy?_

…

_I think I know how to start this now. If I remember correctly, it wasn't sunny... or was it?_

_**~!DMI!~** _

“Look, Pep', I'm fine – yes, I picked them up today – I know, just- don't 'k? Look, I'm in the middle of something- yes, yes, ye- Pep. I'm taking care of myself, I'm fine – bye- yeah yeah I know – bye Pep',” Beep. “Worry much more and your hair'll turn white, or whatever the saying is – Jarvis, let's get some good music playing, 'k?”

“Of course sir,”

A harsh, yet not beat began to fill the room at a four by four tempo as a clattering echoed in the workshop, now somewhat muffled by the newly introduced sound. Tools, prescription drugs, hacking scripts, blueprints and stained coffee rings stained the expensive desk's surface, evidence of many long nights and little sleeps in between – though the small pillow leaning against the side of the desk suggested that he'd not been able to make it out of the lab before passing out on numerous occasions.  
The brown stain on one side of it suggested he'd had a little accident with one of his many cups of coffee as well – that must have been unpleasant, sleeping in coffee. His face must've looked hilarious the next time he awoke.

The man in question was in the centre of the clattered underground workshop, playing with holographic screens and blueprints, before his brown eyes were drawn to the clock like the following groan was drawn out of him. Yawning, he grabbed his most recent cup of coffee, two of the little pills from the Prozac box and popped them in his mouth, downing the coffee with it.

In the background, the news was going on about how there was a sudden thunderstorm in the Miami area, but the inventor barely blinked an eye in it's direction, too busy shaking off the effects of sculling a cup of hot coffee to really care about the weather.

It wasn't like he was upstairs or outdoors anyway – who cared?

“Risin' up back on the street, did my time, took my chances,” He sung along to himself as he grabbed a small headset and walked over to the centre of the room where he had two of his latest suits standing – one painted blue and the other red, you know, for no reason really. “Alright kids, time for Papa to show you a new trick – Jarvis!”

“Right on it, sir,” The voice replied tiredly as the billionaire place the headset on, making sure it was secure before the holographic screen appeared in front of his eyes.

“Is it my birthday? Because I think I just got spoiled – by myself, of course.” A smirk laced the statement as he jumped off the platform, “Mark JIV vs Mark LVI, you may begin!”  
The music rose to it's original volume where it made the floors vibrate, the tempo making everything give off an impossible to hear hum while the brunette leaned against his desk, keeping a slightly strained, yet straight face as he intensely watched the red Mark LVI while it blocked, jolting slightly at each movement, restraining himself from moving his body to go along with it – like, well, he did when the out-of-body controls were through implants in his arms. This time, he was trying something new, something he'd been working on for a week now in between building the Mark LVI and Mark JIV – the Neuropsychiatric Internal Thought System. In other words, 'N.I.T.S.' - yes, he named it after head lice.

How... him.

The instrumental of the old 'Survivor' song echoed throughout the workshop as the genius behind the room's inventions twitched a bit, before twitching again... and again... and- “Shi-!”

Suddenly, the brunette was collapsed on the ground, holding his head – specifically over the N.I.T.S headset as he clumsily pushed the headset's side three times, the device sparking and hissing all the while. As the Mark JIV pinned the Mark LVI in victory, the genius tossed the headset aside in frustration while forcing himself into a sitting position, forming the hand movements to shut down the suits in a quick succession whilst demanding the classic hit be shut off, leaving the room in a dead silence.

Which, by default, didn't last incredibly long.

“Jarvis, how's my nits – still biting?” He asked the empty room with a slightly strained voice, holding the side of his head where the headset had been resting. He couldn't help but frown to himself at the fact that the test run failed – granted, it was the first run, but he was Tony fucking Stark – he was supposed to better than first time failures. Honestly – and he was so close, too.

“The Neuropsychiatric Internal Thought System is in need of being repaired, however it is salvageable, sir,” The A.I. responded in kind – Tony simply grunted in response as he shakily stood up, making a mental note to get his brain scanned for any possible damage in case the N.I.T.S. messed with his nerves more than intended. You can never be too careful after all – he didn't exactly intend for it to fry either.

Fingers worn from both age and decades of hard work picked up the sparking device as he walked over to his cluttered desk, pushing the majority of the clutter aside (some small items like a screwdriver and some metal shards fell to the floor as a result). After picking the screwdriver up from the floor, he quickly cracked open the small device and, using tweezers, pulled out the sparking miniature motherboard with a somewhat disgusted, yet annoyed expression.

He was quick to put the sparking thing on a small light blue, glowing tray.

“Jarvis, I want a detailed scan of this chip, 'k? This nit isn't supposed to scratch – and book me in to the local hos- actually, scratch that – I'll be fine. Time, Jarvis?” The genius babbled as the chip was encased in a clear dome before gravity seemed to just abandon the small chamber and it began to float.

As Jarvis scanned the chip for where the faults were, hard-working hands went to work with the holograms for a few moments before he was looking at his lab's security feeds. He had the camera zoom into the side of the head to show he had what looked like a small scorch mark, as well as several smeared red spots from where the nerve reader attached to his temple. He quickly wiped away the red spots.

“Shall I book you a C.A.T. Scan just in case, sir?” Jarvis piped up, startling the tiring genius as he shook himself out of the minor daze the small fry put him under.

“Didn't know that was a time, Jarv' – and I'm fine,” Stark responded with a roll of his eyes, running a finger through his hair, moving some of the longer strands over the area the headset latched onto to try make the tiny scorch mark less notice-able. After the time appeared on a hologram, Stark just rolled his eyes at the fact only four and a half minutes had passed since he last checked. Depressing, really.

Catching himself in a yawn, the man decided now was the best time for the cup of coffee, so doing what any (in)sane genius would do, he walked over to the coffee machine sitting in the corner of the room and made it start giving him coffee.

It took him a few moments to realise he was just wasting quality caffeine when he noticed that he failed to put a cup on the tray for it to put the coffee in, so it was just effectively going down the drain. Rubbing his eyes a bit, mentally noting the pills were probably mixing with the fact he hadn't slept in 53 hours, he grabbed the nearest mug and put it on the tray. The 'I Love Iron Man' print on the side never failed to make him snicker a bit as he pressed the cappuccino option again... only for nothing to happen. He repeated the notion about three times before Jarvis' kind reminder.

“I believe you are out of milk, sir – perhaps it is time for a visit to the real world?” Stark rolled his eyes at the A.I., muttering under his breath 'no shit, Sherlock' as he somewhat clumsily began to make his way out of the room.

But not before walking into the glass door – damnit, he really needed his caffeine hit.

_**~!DMI!~** _

A sky that looked like it was bleeding red into the night electrocuted the earth one again as the thunder of it's laugh followed not even a second after – in fact, the sound almost collided with the strike. The hues of the sunset made the view spectacular as you could see the red, orange and pink bleeding through the occasional gap in the clouds.

It was so beautiful, a photographer would be out there snapping a million photos and the artist would be sitting there with his easel painting this creation into eternal beauty. But the inventor was neither a photographer nor an artist – he didn't see in the rule of thirds nor the colour wheel. Hell, he didn't really understand any of that crap anyway – he was an inventor, and a damned good one.

Leave the creative stuff to the creative people – he had his own stuff to work on.

Another crash of lightening attacked the nearby shore as the waves battled it out to see who'd reach the sand first, but Tony didn't notice any of that – he was too busy walking into the modernised kitchen and brewing some more caffeine in the espresso machine sitting on the kitchen bench for when he surfaced from his rare sleep.

Or when he surfaced from his lab in general – the man practically lived, drank, spoke, sang and breathed caffeine these days – he was bound to have a heart attack sooner or later, but as those idiotic teenagers say these days 'you only live once', so he's going to live his life the way he wants to.

Well, as much as he can anyway – he can't deny that Pepper having moved out into her own apartment again last week was a bit of a burn to his psyche. While she was adamant that it didn't mean they broke up or anything, it didn't change the fact his most precious person leaving with all her bags was painful – well, at least he remembered why he's been up over 50 hours this time.

He gave himself a tired slap in the face at the thought train, the sound drowned out by a ridiculously large thunder clap and the coffee machine beeping to signal his beverage was ready.

“Snap out of it,” He hissed to himself as he felt along the counter a little before grabbing his coffee, squinting to see past the blur of his tired state as he quickly downed the whole cup, spilling some down his jaw and onto his shirt, as well as over his hand.

After a finished cup, a few quick curses and a lot of flailing and wiping to try and get the hot liquid off him, he just sat down on the floor under the coffee machine and sighed. While he was already a little more alert, no one could really deny he was also tired as shit, and it's already been about 10-15 minutes since he took that Prozac – so it only really just started taking effect as well.

But that aside, Tony could admit he needed a little break. His vision was swimming a little, he had a killer headache, and his temple where the N.I.T.S. was hurts as well. A brief thought occurred to him that maybe that thing fried his brain a little, but he just passed it off – he was tired as shit, better yet, he was a tired shit. He looked like shit, he probably smelled like shit, he was drowsy as shit – Tony Stark, right now, was a giant shit just sitting on his kitchen floor staring up at the flickering ceiling lights.

“Great. Jarvis, get the back-up generators online!”

“My apologies s- sir, but the lightning has destroyed the con- connection -tion. I believe we- we are about to experience a blackout -out. Sir.” The distorted A.I. responded, his voice cutting and fizzling like a giant computer glitch to hit when a video game character was trying to speak. Stark could practically imagine his colours going haywire and everything, but that thought wasn't that important – probably brought on from his over-dosed system, really.

“Fuck – connect yourself to the J-” Stark began before the house systematically went black, “-VI... Jarvis? Jarvis? ...Fuck.”

Shaking his head to get the mental lag out of the way, the billionaire forced himself up to a standing position of sorts. Frowning to himself, the man felt his way around to the sink and turned on the cold water tap. A few good splashes to the face woke him up well enough stand as straight as he normally would and internally curse the fact he didn't need to wear his arc reactor any more (so he didn't).

The damned thing would be a much better light than the false latex skin he had over the empty metal cylinder left behind in his chest (it would be too dangerous to take it out as his rib cage, breathing track, lungs and everything had grown accustomed to the part – according to the doctor, he could literally fall apart or something. He wasn't really listening too much at the time – too busy staring at the pretty patterns on the ceiling because morphine man, morphine).

So, like any (in)sane person would do in this situation, the middle aged man decided that going out into that shit-storm where there was a good possibility of getting his ass fried by lightening so he could fix the back-up generators would be a good idea. It took him a good amount of fumbling and an unknown amount of time, but eventually he had his age-old urine yellow poncho on over his workshop clothing, as well as his tool kit and a flash light.

He had to admit, he didn't expect to find the flash light – old age technology like that tended to not see the light of day in the inventor's homestead – but then again, this was a relatively old home compared to his favoured (and currently being reconstructed) home in Miami. He kept this old place as upgraded as he could over the years, but at the end of the day, he wasn't all that fond of Los Angeles – too many bitches and not enough brains.

And considering he was supposedly in a committed relationship, the 'bitches' were useless, so the lack of brains was annoying. Jarvis was better conversation any day, and he was a computer program. Just A Really Very Intelligent System – and forever his favourite, too.

But they weren't the issue – it was that damned storm messing with his technology that was. Honestly, if that was Thor's doing... not that he was going to go down that thought path right now.

Granted, he didn't really care about Thor himself, but the man had some connections with a fair few memories he was in no state to tango with right now.

The moment he opened his front door, the 5'8” male almost wanted to just give up on the idea of fixing the generators tonight and just go to sleep, but after fighting off the freezing cold wind by shivering on the spot for a good five to ten seconds, the inventor decided that he'd rather a heater to a black out – and Jarvis too. Jarvis was the main reason, but the heater sounded fantastic as shit right now.

“Out of the frying pan and into the... ice cold realm of freeze-your-dick -off as they say...” He muttered to himself as he picked his tool box off of the floor, the item of which being momentarily forgotten in the Ben 'n' Jerry's freeze-your-nuts-off thunderstorm surprise. It's so cold is a new ice-cream flavour – sheesh.

Dragging himself out past the protection of the back veranda's awning was hard enough, but it was hell and a half resisting the persistence voice in the back of his head saying 'you can live without Jarvis for one night, just go to bed, your nuts are safer under three fat blankets and near a battery-operated heater' as he took each soaked-sneakers of a step into the insane storm.

Wind tore the hood of his poncho off not even ten steps out, letting the rain bash up his already aching face and give him a good and entirely unwanted cold shower along with it. After the fifth time the hoody was whipped off, the inventor just gave up on the lost cause, internally glad he didn't decide to sacrifice one of his umbrellas to the storm instead.

A massive crash echoed through out the area, putting Tony off on the his walk somewhat as he dropped the toolbox to cover his ears from the sound's resonance. Next thing he knew, he had to run and skid out of the way of a massive tree branch crashing onto the spot of which his toolbox now occupied.  
“FUCK!” The inventor yelled angrily as he pushed his way back to the place where his tools were now trapped, angrily kicking the branch, which only made him weak against the harsh winds and caused him to trip, landing on (and lightly skinning) his poor kneecaps like a clumsy child who ran too fast. Hissing to himself despite the fact the winds, rain and storm muted anything below a shout, he tried to push the branch out of the way.

Due to the fact it was more of a mid-weight branch with a lot more annoying smaller branches, leaves and twigs sticking off it like a maze instead of being a heavy-as-hell log which would've demolished the poor toolbox, Stark managed to finally get it out of the way, though he had a fair few scratches and leaf-style bitch slaps on his way before he managed to get his damned toolbox.

Pushing his drenched hair from his face back, the middle aged inventor continued to stubbornly push his way through the storm until he was finally in the proximity of the shed of the back-up generator.

It wasn't until he got inside and looked out the window (everything's clearer when wind, rain and who knows what isn't whipping you in the face like the girlfriend who just caught you cheating would) that he discovered that lightning had actually managed to send a damned tree onto the power line, and because the tree was one of those massive oaks, it brought the cable and the post support it, down with it.  
In other words, it wasn't going to get fixed tonight.

“Peachy,” Stark muttered under his breathe as he used his hand to shake out as much water from his hair as possible, “I got a bath for nothing – fucking peachy,”

After putting his toolbox in a spot he'd remember, the man then forced his way back through that shit storm and into his abode, where the first thing he did was get that battery-operated heater he knew he had shoved in some desolate closet, his fattest quilt, dried off, changed clothes and his wireless Stark Pad for entertainment.

He may as well play with some old blueprints to see if he can upgrade them or anything until the Stark Pad ran out of batteries.

_**~!DMI!~** _

By the time he'd upgraded a suit's blueprint so that it could forever be heated with the perfect temperature, as well as drew up some plans for rewiring that back-up generator under the house instead of old-fashioned telegraph poles (proof alone he tended to ignore this place) and put around a few of Pepper's old candles for light, the Stark Pad finally died just after Stark saved the heating blue print.

A sigh that screamed age was released from the man's tired lips as he slouched on the extravagant lounge, turning his attention to out the window, where the dark landscape continued crashing around like a toddler's tantrum. The lightning continued to attack the surrounding area, thunder matching the bolt, proving the ridiculously close proximity – in fact, he was about to turn away from the annoying light show when a massive bolt struck the middle of his backyard.

Over-worked hands flew up to hide the man's blurring vision from the flash of light, and then just as quickly they returned to his ears to protect from the boom of lightning that followed.

Not really wanting to open his eyes to see what the storm did this time, he did so anyway and he had to take an immediate double-take at what was presented to him.

A man, a rather lanky one at that, temporarily stood where the lightning struck before he collapsed on the ground. Silhouetted by the darkness, Stark almost had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but none the less, when the next lightening bolt flashed and thundered, the collapsed man was lit up for just that split second.

And that was a split second long enough to convince Tony that there was, in fact, a guy in his backyard who came from a fucking lightning bolt ho could die of hypo-fucking-thermia if he ignored it.

“You've got to be kidding me,” The man muttered under his breath as he got up and pulled the windcheater he'd put on to keep warm, tighter. It didn't take him long to have his boots on and the hood secured to his damned face before he was out into the backyard and pushing his way through the gale forces to get to the collapsed figure.

Rain was pelting down gallons at a time, the ground was minutely flooded by about an inch and a half for crying out loud. Using his gloved hand to try and keep the water off of his face, he finally managed to make his way around the fallen branch and over to the collapsed figure who, up close, both looked over six feet tall and anorexic as shit.

Long, absolutely drenched ebony hair hid his head from view, while his torso was covered by a clearly thin, long-sleeved green shirt of sorts. Brown, thin track pants and no shoes were what made this stranger's outfit, and he all in all looked pitiful as anything. For a second Tony contemplated that this could be related to Thor somehow, but the thought was booted out of his brain faster than you can say 'bananas'.

“Hope you've got health insurance, buddy,” The man muttered to himself as he lifted the sickeningly light man up over his shoulder, shaking his head a bit to both fight off the rain and the sense of deja vu that was trying to creep over him like a spider into your mouth while you're sleeping.

The thought had him make a spitting motion, not really liking the fact that practically everyone's snacked on a spider while sleeping – not that he really cared about spiders, but more because, well, it's rather unappealing. If he has, well, who cares really, come to think of it. He's done worse.

After a few good whiplashes of angry wind-to-the-face, the most painful face-wash in the history of face-washes and a near-slip because he, at one point, paid a little too much attention to his shoulder-warmer than the ground. It was rather exhausting, having to deal with bath number two like that, but hey, things could be worse.

It felt like forever until he managed to get back inside his dark abode, the storm raging all the while as wet boots were kicked aside and the stranger was dumped on the sofa without a care as to what the water damage would do to the expensive thing. But then again, it was Tony Stark's couch – he'd probably just buy a better one to replace it if he wanted to.

He was quick to turn up the heater and set it on the table so the long-haired stranger could warm up (if Stark wasn't half asleep, irritable as anything and had headaches upon headaches – enough head pain that he just felt numb and dizzy, he'd say the man was almost literally blue in areas), before he tossed the wet windcheater aside and left to go retrieve himself a nice fat quilt as he gave the one he'd been using momentarily to the stranger on his couch.

Well, that was at least the plan as the inventor knelt next to the passed out male after having put the blanket over his freezing form. He'd be a freaking alien if he didn't get hypothermia, though considering he just appeared after lightning fucked with his backyard for the umpteenth time that night, it wasn't a completely ignorable possibility.

But Stark would be damned if he didn't ignore it, so he passed it off as a foolish thought while he shoved a pillow under the man's head. Speaking of his head...

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let your hair down... or get a hair cut,” He muttered to himself as he not-so-gracefully pushed the shoulder-length, dripping locks aside to reveal the man's face. And damn – Stark had to remember to breathe.

Being that pale was unnatural – he definitely had hypothermia, he had to. His lips were almost freaking blue for crying out loud – just being near the stranger made Stark cold, and he was a generally warm person. Being warm blooded was kind of his thing, being human and all. Then again, it was freezing out there, and the only source of heat in the room was a blanket and a small battery-operated heater that the inventor was questioning as to how it was even working.

“Who are you?” The billionaire muttered to himself as his mind flashed back to a rather unappealing series of events that passed in 2011 in a certain city which caused him to flinch rather violently, though he simply shook it off as he repeated the question to himself mentally while coming to a stand.

 _Thor, S.H.E.I.L.D., brother-_ “Get a grip, Tony,” He muttered to himself as he rubbed his temples, keeping in mind that one side was tender from the N.I.T.S. as swayed a bit, the drowsiness from a ridiculously long time awake, the antidepressant trying to pull him to a slumber and now this – fucking New York- _aliens, Banner, Hulk, tesseract, gods, magic-_ “Damnit,”

Trying to keep his body under control as he breathed in and out in short puffs, the man tried to manoeuvre his way across the room and at least make it to the hall but the memories began to rain down harder than the rain and the trauma mixed with them, the falling, falling, falling- slapping his harder than the wind. His mind felt like it was trying to expand and explode, but trying to shrivel up and die at the same time.

His body felt too hot and at the same time too cold – almost feverish, and his legs couldn't even hold him up anymore as he collapsed halfway across the room, holding himself up with shaky arms. His mind threw scene after scene at him like an old movie where someone had tampered with the film reel. He was seeing white, his vision was as blurred as one's would be underwater, his eyes stung, and it was suddenly way too damned hot. The floor was hot ice, his vision swam, falling, chitauri, New York, New York, place to fucking be- he couldn't control it as he fell to the left, shoulder banging on the floor, but did he notice? Not one bit.

Hands flew to his head, pulling, tugging, pressing – trying to get the feeling of falling out, the images, the fears, _the chitauri, gods, falling, space, aliens, Asgard, tesseract, Loki, Loki, LOKI-!_

And suddenly it was morning, there was a distinct lack of wet man on his couch and he was under his favourite, currently a little bit damp, quilt as a couch cushion, questioning to himself drowsily 'what the hell just happened?'. This made him take a double take at the distinct lack of passed out, wet man on his couch and he sat up quick enough to almost want to fall back down with dizziness again.

“Where's Rapunzel?”


	2. If There's a Locke, There Must Be a Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a hobo and letting him stay the night was one thing, finding said hobo in your private laboratory is another. Introducing Loki and Lt. Rhodes to the story, chapter 2 holds some fun twists and turns.

_It's funny, looking back on it – I never really expected it to be who it was. I mean I should've seen it coming, obviously, but some things you just don't expect. Like good break-ups and the fact your girlfriend doesn't like the big-boobed custom rabbit you got her as a gift. It was an awesome rabbit – still shocked she didn't like it._

_I don't know what to say really – this past year has just been a massive series of unfortunate events, you know, Lemony Snicket style or whatever the guy's name was. That guy who wrote the book I didn't read behind that weird-ass Jim Carrey flick released five or so years ago. That guy. But hey, I'm coping fine with a lot of stuff now – let me tell you, it was better therapy than Bruce could ever offer me – but in my defence, he just couldn't stop falling asleep._

_His fault he didn't get all the juicy stuff, not mine. I only had J.A.R.V.I.S. erase it out of revenge. When in doubt, rely on your trusty AI._

_**~!DMI!~** _

Silence echoed throughout the room as the brunet sat up, rubbing his aching temples gingerly. Judging from the bright light falling through the window, it had to be around midday or something – puddles accompanied by small splashes of water around the room gave off some shine from the light bouncing off of their surface, muddy footprints were walked all around the room; the couch was muddy too.

Honestly, the room just looked like crap – or, muddy, in this case, you know, it kind of looked like shit but didn't because it was mud and- let's not continue with that thought train.

“Peachy,” The billionaire muttered under his breath, as he pulled himself to a standpoint, “Just peachy – Jarvis!”

Silence seemed to stick it's cheeky tongue out at the ex-playboy, while he heavily contemplated doing the same as he shouted his A.I.'s name out again hoping for, oh who knows – a response, maybe? Yeah. A response sounds best right now. In fact, Tony couldn't help but think the cockroaches were making more noise right now, and he couldn't even hear any damned cockroaches. Granted, the complete lack of any technology functioning in the room should have tipped the genius off that his precious A.I. wasn't exactly connected to this old piece-of-shit house at the moment, but Stark tended to be a bit drowsy after, oh I don't know, passing the fuck out in the middle of his living room because of reasons.

“I swear to whatever that I'm going to get a fucking arc reactor installed and powering this shit joint as soon as the damned power's fixed,” He grumbled as he ran a muddy, over-worked hand through his clumpy, muddy locks. Which on it's own didn't even make much sense – how the hell did his hair get dirty? He didn't exactly trip face-first or, well, back-of-head-first when he went outside – hell, he didn't trip at all, the only time he touched anything that wasn't the damned rain, was when he moved the tree to get to his toolbox.

The genius just shook his head at his inner-monologue of thoughts – honestly, who gave a shit if his hair technically shouldn't be dirty, if memory serves him right, he had bigger fish to fry – like the fact there was probably a damned hobo somewhere in his house, using his stuff! Or worse, he could've stolen some of it! And now that's just pissing him off!

Damnit, this is why Tony Stark didn't do nice things!

“Fuck...!” He cursed as he left the room and entered the kitchen, partially hoping to find that hobo and partially glad all he found was the room in the same condition he left it really – a coffee stain on the counter, a mug left haphazardly right next to it, knocked to the side with an inch of coffee coming out of it, and basically, generally clean.

Well, apart from the mud footprints he just dragged in here, which, by the way, meant he was still wearing his damned shoes. If Pepper was here, she'd have his ass on a platter – honestly.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he quickly discarded the muddy sneakers after the thought – even if she didn't live with him any more, one picks up a few habits after living with her for nearly two years now, if not more. He didn't really keep count of how long – it never occurred to him that she'd leave.

Depressing, really. But now was not the time to angst about the fact his long-term girlfriend decided to go out on her own, no, the lack of hobo on the couch was more concerning to the billionaire.

Come to think of it, wasn't 'hobo' an offensive term to the homeless-? Oh, who cares – he was Tony Stark, homelessness never really entered his radar for 'things to give a shit about'. Tony Stark only cares for Tony Stark, because at the end of the day, he's the only one who feels the effects as far as he sees it.

Well, okay, others feel effects, but he doesn't feel what they feel – he only feels what he does and just- oh screw it, he wasn't going to go down that road right now. It's too damned curvy. Not that he minded curvy, curvy was good, especially on a beautiful woman.

After dumping the mug into the sink and wiping up the small coffee stain the tipped over item had left behind, the brunet leaned next to his coffee machine and sighed heavily. Due to the fact that the power-lines were killed thanks to the storm the previous night, he was going to be out of technology for a few days until he could at least hook up his back-up generators to the house, let alone get the local council off their asses long enough to fix the town line to his place.

Come to think of it, he had the day off, and he really did want Jarvis back online as soon as possible so that he could get back to working on the Neuropsychiatric Internal Thought System – and while the idea of it malfunctioning in his head wasn't exactly welcome, he really didn't have any other options, besides, if he managed to actually get this thing working, then he will have created the first thought-based control system known to man.

Well, obviously he'd keep it to himself, but it wouldn't hurt for the public to be aware of how fucking brilliant he is – it's nice to remind them every now and again who had the brains in this world.

Nodding to himself at his decision to fix up the back-up generator today, he made his way down towards his shabby underground laboratory that he fixed up in the basement. It was nowhere near as awesome as his old one in Miami was, but it wasn't too terrible, just a bit outdated in comparison he supposed. Naturally, as soon as he moved in he had a security system put in place which was your typical glass door with a holographic finger-pad in order to let you in – it was his favourite type, because it meant only he could really get in, as he had Jarvis register a facial recognition system so even if you knew the 4-digit pin, you still couldn't get in if Jarvis didn't recognise you. He actually had a half-finished upgrade to that system in his files, come to think of it – though he'll work on that later, he lost interest in it when he started working on the Nits.

Bare feet quickly jogged down the short flight of stairs that lead to the basement, the door wide open thanks to the fact he made sure to program in that the door remained unlocked when Jarvis went off-line, you know, so he could go in and get the keys to manually lock the thing (he didn't really keep the keys on him, since he never really let himself think about Jarvis-less times like now).

Though come to think of it, it was in the protocol to unlock the door, not leave it wide-open and- was that mud on the door handle?

He moved in for a closer look and scowled – that was mud on the door handle, and looking back at the stairs, there were small bits of water and mud along the opposite side to the one he walked down.

Let's just say it didn't take the genius too long to walk into the dark laboratory and find his desk, which by habit, contained a flash light at the back of his 'draw of random crap he didn't really need'.

Click- “Fuck!”

Startled, the man took a quick step back as he turned it on the reveal the stranger almost right in front of him, looking a bit surprised himself if the dead expression was anything to go by. Well, the raised eyebrows were actually what gave away the surprise, if it was surprise – honestly, with that expression, it could easily be amusement or something.

Or pity, or anything – Tony wasn't exactly a genius when it came to reading people, he was an inventor and a scientist, not a... people-ist. Which brings him to his current point - “What the hell are you doing down here?”

The man, who's face was currently a bit over-lit with the torch full-force in his face, seem to look even more amused at the man's anger as he pushed a bit of his curled black hair behind his ear gingerly, seemingly not really caring at the fact he was basically treating the place like he owned it, which lead the genius to be rather pissed off as a result – who the hell does this pretty boy think he is?! He's making his laboratory all dirty for what? To snoop in the dark – how the fuck did he even see in the place anyway?! And why did that even matter – he shouldn't even be down here!

“Now now, Stark, let's not get angry,” He mocked lightly, a smirk seeming to take over his white face while he dusted down his still-slightly-wet-but-not-very green shirt, side-stepping the brunet billionaire in a movement to leave the room, seemingly bored with it's contents after being caught, “It's quite dark here, shall we continue to converse upstairs?”

Before the shorter of the two could respond to the slippery smooth mockery that fell from this... thin-lipped guy's mouth (he couldn't really think of any retorts to do with his mouth at the time being), the man practically slithered out of the laboratory and upstairs.

Brow furrowed in a silent fury, the billionaire abruptly turned to his drawer set and dug through the 'useless crap' drawer, pulling out the 'old' but new-looking keys after a short search and quickly leaving the room, making sure to lock the door behind him. Damp hair seemed to sway with his quick movements and he quickly made his way out of the basement, locking the first door behind him as well to make sure, before bare feet stormed down rich mahogany floorboards to find the stranger in the kitchen, looking through his fridge.

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Because he sure as hell didn't have the right to snoop around or eat his food.

Before Tony even knew he was doing, he gripped the shoulder of the twig-of-a-man and practically threw him through the door and into the hall, the glass milk bottle that was in his hand flying behind him and smashing down the hall. A quick look of surprise passed over the stranger's face before a cool anger seemed to flatten out his expression.

“You're going to regret that, Stark,”

“We'll see, pretty boy,” Stark bit back as he practically felt the force behind the punch heading his way – a punch of which he dodged by ducking, twisting and kicking the man in the ribs as he managed to land a punch on Tony's shoulder.

Punches, kicks, curses and even bites were exchanged in however long it took for them both to finally stand down on a stale mate, but the walls along the hall were dented and the floorboards were scratched. Bruises were set to bloom like flowers in the springtime on both of the men in many areas, and a quick wiping of his face showed that the genius' nose was showing the world that it could indeed leak out his precious life liquids when it’s hit hard enough.

The stranger seemed to be fairing a lot better, though his lip was bleeding a little, he was still standing tall, and he looked rather exhausted physically. Tony made a mental note to call the repair service to fix the hall and give it a good clean after getting his house back online – that sounded like a good idea. He didn't want to break his foot trying to go to bed or to his lab or something.

“Let's recap pretty boy – who the hell are you and what were you doing in my lab?” Stark snarked with a smirk (internally snickering at the alliteration – snarky Stark snickered, it is a rather entertaining thought when one was a little delirious from one too many punches in the head) as his opponent flashed him a look of minor confusion, before a smirk practically slithered onto his face like a snake about to eat it's prey.

Well, that what Tony thought it looked like anyway – this stranger seemed to ooze snake – the green didn't help his case at all, and his cheekbones – he basically just looked like your typical Hollywood bad guy, British accent and all. It kind of made Tony a little nauseous to be honest, though he just couldn't put his finger on why the stranger just put him off – it's not like they'd ever met before, he was just a random hobo who got struck by lightening or something.

Whatever.

“I was curious, and you were asleep for quite some time. I had to entertain myself somehow, I suppose.” He responded, leaning against the opposing wall as he licked the blood from his lip – the sight made Tony shiver somewhat in disgust. Even that was snake-like – at this rate, he was expecting the guy to have a name like 'Anaconda' or something, well, snake-y. Maybe it was just Snake, he seemed like the type to have drug-addict parents who would give their kids stupid names.

He also seemed to be glaring at the genius.

“What? I know I'm sexy, but you don't have to stare,”

“Very funny, Stark. I am not going to repeat what I just said.”

“Shame, you seem the type to love your own voice,”

“Like yourself, I suppose?”

“Very funny, Snake.”

A well-sculpted eyebrow slithered up (he wasn't going to let go of the snake metaphor here) into an intrigued position at the nickname, before he seemed to start playing with his shoulder-length wavy black hair in a rather bored manner, his lithe figure leaning against the wall behind him, one leg crossed over the other in an almost feminine fashion.

Honestly, take away the relatively broad shoulder, and bulge in his pasts and give him a pair of breasts and you could say he looked like a rather average, freakishly tall woman. Too snake-y though – he wasn't the type to invite a snake into his quarters, they might eat the rat and kill the cat, so to speak.

“Snake? I must say, that's a new one. I am Lok-” The man seemed the suddenly stop himself, eyebrows furrowed in some confusion, as if he forgot his own name, while Tony's heart seemed to begin to pump just a bit faster with every passing second, as if this random stranger was triggering him or something. Not that he recognised it as being a trigger, but still.

Cerulean eyes blinked once, then twice, before the man decided that he was ready to speak; “I am Locke, and you are Stark. Am I right-?” “'Lock'? Where's the key?” Chocolate eyes sparked with triumph while ocean eyes sparked with annoyance and what looked like a small amount of panic and something else Tony couldn't pick out. Hell, it was a miracle alone that Tony managed to pick out more than one thing from his damned eyes, really – he must be getting better at it, finally.

Though you'd think he'd be getting worse, since he's been practically stuck in his lab since, well, everything happened basically.

“Locke. It's a name, Stark.” The man, 'Locke' Tony reminded himself, replied with a rather agitated look to him. Piano fingers played with the matted tresses of black hair in a way that Tony managed to once again compare to a snake. Hell, this guy was just a fucking snake, 'nuff said. No second thoughts necessary – snake-y to the core, really. It was rather unsettling.

Too unsettling, actually – he's done his good deed of the week, he dragged this freak's ass out of the rain and gave him shelter for the night. Tony can now call himself a good guy again for a week, that's enough for the billionaire.

“Well, 'Locke', not to be mean, but I've got technology to fix and machines to fry, so if you'll excuse yourself, I've done my deed for the month – you can go now.” Wiping the blood from his nose onto his hand, and then his hand onto his old jeans, he proceeded to search his back pockets before pulling out an admittedly ritzy black wallet. As he opened it, 'Locke' couldn't help but interject with his own opinion of the sudden 'booting' of his presence.

“...Excuse me?”

“You heard me princess, you can take your pretty face elsewhere and let down your hair at the nearest gay bar – I'm sure someone will be up for opening you up with their key if you ask enough,” A self-satisfied smirk practically jumped out on the shorter man's face as he pulled two $100 bills from his wallet, putting the thing back in his back pocket as he gave the money to a, frankly, offended British man before gesturing to the front door, which could be see through the kitchen (and living room, which was after that).

“After all that's happened, you're... removing me from your household?”

“Wow, aren't you a genius cupcake? Your friendly neighbourhood Iron Man has more important things to do than babysit, so go buy yourself some food and clothes and maybe get a job. Have a nice life,” The brunet responded off-handedly as he left the hall and entered the kitchen, putting his sneakers back on and making his way out towards the backyard in order to begin fixing the power lines.

He kept an ear out for 'Locke's' response, however was greeted with the pleasant sound of the front door slamming quite soon after entering his backyard. Smirking to himself, he began to slightly-limp his way towards to back-up generator shed – it was high time Jarvis was back so he could make sure pretty snake boys with easy-to-make-fun-of names stayed out of his house and yard while he was unconscious.

_**~!DMI!~** _

“So you just kicked him out?” The unimpressed timbre of Lieutenant Rhodes’ voice rang loud and clear as Stark rose an eyebrow in response, rather unimpressed with the fact that Rhodes was, well, unimpressed with his choice of actions.

“No, I gave him my room and credit card details.” The billionaire responded, rolling his eyes somewhat childishly as the military man just glared back, “What was I supposed to do then, Lieutenant Hobo-Protector?”

“I don’t know, Tony – at least give him a place to stay for a night or so? Take him to the police station – a hospital even?” The exasperation rolled out in waves, mixed with a tinge of annoyance and some undetectable notion of the fact that Rhodes was far from surprised. Stark was quite the damaged man after all – it wasn’t exactly expected of him to be chivalrous. Though $200 and a boot out of the door was just... just harsh, considering who Stark was and how much he had in his bank account, so to speak.

“Oh, my bad, next time I’ll worship the hobo,” Sarcasm dripped over every word that left Stark’s mouth as he internally wished Rhodey would just drop the subject already. Great, Stark handled the hobo case crap, but in his defence the guy snooped in his lab and beat the shit out of him in his own hallway – you can’t blame him for his lack of sympathy. Who knows who that prick was – besides, he got struck by lightening for fuck’s sake and the day after, it was like nothing ever happened. Snake shed it’s skin much?

“Cut the crap Tony – would it kill you to be more, I don’t know, social?” A raised eyebrow was all Rhodey got in response for his efforts; “Oh come on, Tony, I know the past ten years or so haven’t exactly been easy, but is it really a reason to seclude yourself to some old mansion in L.A. 24/7?”  
“If I happen to recall, Rhodey, I’m currently eating lunch with you – I think I’m fine with being ‘social’” The genius responded in kind, ignoring the nagging in the back of his mind as he took a bite of his good ol’ massive American-style burger. It’s been a while since he’s had an upgrade from cheap chips and butt-loads of caffeine and scotch, come to think of it – he was going to savour this burger.

Come to think of it, he should order out more often – he’s been forgetting to in the past week, as chips were still food as far as he was concerned.

“That’s not what I meant, Tony – I have to sacrifice an arm and a leg-” (“You sure? Your arm seems to be doing fine with that burger,”) “-As I was saying, I have to sacrifice an arm and a leg, _metaphorically speaking_ , to get you out of your damn shell once a month. Get out more often, go to parties, get drunk, move back in with Pepper – I don’t know, just do something.” Brown against brown fell into a minor eye-to-eye stand-off, before Rhodey simply sighed and Tony took another bite of his burger, “Move back to Malibu at least – your place was finished two months ago, it’s reactor-powered and you’ll never have to worry about days-at-a-time power outages.”

As Rhodey bit into his own burger, waiting for a response, Stark was having a lot of trouble holding back his own inner demons. Malibu he said – move back to Malibu? Oh, that sounds fucking peachy as shit- he’d love to take a life-threatening sky dive into the crashing waves and rocks with his own suit again, before flying off to a cold middle of nowhere, be stranded without his technology, without Jarvis, (“Tony...?”), without any kind of jumper, freezing to death, (“Tony?”) running away from yet another psychopath who seems to have a thing for throwing him out of windows too, why is it always windows? Windows, windows, throw him out another window why won’t you? Do it again, just like he did in New Y-!  
“Tony!!”

Panicked eyes flew up to the face of a worried, and guilty, old friend who was holding both of his shoulders rather tightly. Breathing which was once smooth was now trying to beat the next breath to get out, like a stampede with no end to the animals. Naturally, it took a few seconds for Tony to get his grip on reality.

“...What?”

“You ok, Tony?” The dark-skinned male asked, worry lacing his being as the shaken billionaire stood, promptly pulling out his wallet and placing a few bills on the table, eyes alight with panic as he moved to leave; “What’s up, man?”

“I’m fine, Rhodey – just-” It took a second to process the lie, “-Just came up with a new idea for improving the Nits system, so I’m heading home. Tell Pep I said hi when you... get back there.” “Tony-” “Not now, Rhodey,” Not ever.

Before the man could protest again, the billionaire had slipped out of the shop – golden bell ringing twice as he did so – and began to make his way for the not-so-crowded streets.

_**~!DMI!~** _

It’s raining. Who would’ve thought?

Brown tresses, which were usually held back by the grease from not washing his hair for days, were soaking wet and falling down the sides of his face. The casual Black Sabbath t-shirt, black jeans and even his sneakers were all soaked to the bone and he only just realised it was raining. Was he really so out of it in the past half an hour? You’d think Stark would’ve noticed the fact he was cold and drenched of all things – hell, you’d think he would’ve just gone home.

But then again, Stark didn’t deal with anxiety attacks that well, despite how long he’s had them. A walk through the streets of this nice, quaint town usually clears his head – or lets him break down in an alley or public toilet (they work too).

His pocket buzzed twice – a text? Well, good to know that Stark Technology was waterproof – well, his versions of it were at least. It was too expensive to make everything his company sold waterproof – he'd drive away all the cheapskate customers which still helped generate his billions – and this was Tony Stark we're talking about. He liked his billions.

What seemed like a minute or so passed as the billionaire in question (unless the text was either a prank or a mistake) made his way under the shelter of a flower-shop. The smell of the flowers mixed with the smell of the rain, and if he were any kind of person who was into the natural crap, he'd appreciate it – but as far as he saw it anyway, machines smelled better. Nothing smelt like home like a greasy workshop and a couple of dear, but stupid robots.

He'll forever miss You though – unlike Butterfingers, he wasn't salvageable. It was depressing really, he loved that robot.

But enough of that depressing stuff, his phone had just buzzed again, like whoever was texting him was in quite the hurry to get his attention. Or maybe he was out of range during his stroll and he only just entered it? Come to think of it, it was getting dark as well – maybe someone was worried about him?

Oh well, not like he actually intended to respond anyway.

' _You have 27 unread text messages_ ' read the partially holographic screen as the genius easily manoeuvred his finger so the message was replaced by the texts in question. All from Lt. Rhodes as well, it seemed – worried about Tony's lack of contact in the last- “Has it really been six hours?”

He received an odd look from the young man who had just come outside to take the displays back in, ready to close up shop for the day. The billionaire completely snubbed the boy in return as his warm-coloured gaze returned to a world of the pouring rain – torrents of it just falling, drowning the cement and earth beneath it with it's vicious need to wet everything.

How... annoying.

“Hey, kid! Do you have any towels in there?” In response, the teenager gave the man quite an odd look if one does say so. A look mixed between surprise, boredom, tiredness and a bit of offence as well, considering, well, Tony wasn't exactly nice to people. Kids or otherwise.

“Sorry dude, only flowers – try the laundromat down the street. They're open late.”

“Peachy.” The brunet responded in kind, sarcasm drowning the fruity word in black liquid. Well, technically that was physically impossible to drench a non-physical thing, such as a word, in black gooey liquid – especially if it was a non-physical thing drenching said non-physical thing in a physical thing and- oh whatever.

See? This is what happens when Tony's tired and, well, himself – he thinks. About the impracticability in a metaphor he made offhandedly about the word 'peachy' he used sarcastically. Peachy.

A buzzing sound erupted from Tony's pocket as he felt the vibrations in his thigh, taking the phone out (that he hadn't even realised he put back in) and quickly opening the what? 28th text Rhodes has sent him now? Yikes – spam much?

' **Tony, could you just reply with even a blank message or something?** ' A greying eyebrow rose as the man finally decided to give the spam messages some of his time as he stood under the flower-shop awning on a pouring evening.

The texts initially were apologies like ' **Are you ok man? I'm sorry** ' and ' **Seriously man, did I trigger you or something?** ' for about ten or so texts, ending with a rather resigned response of ' **Ok, I get it, you're pissed at me – just let me know when you get home** '. There was what looked like a time gap of about two-three hours before the spam seemed to come to life again, well, if the arrival times on his phone were anything to go by at least. Some were mindless comments about the fact it'll start raining soon, some were more needless apologies and the likes.

Honestly, Stark was getting a bit of a migraine just reading these things – who did Rhodes think he was? The Hannibal to Stark's Will Graham? Pfft- as if. He was in no need of a psychologist, nor did he have any intention what-so-ever to waste his time or money with one, thank you very much. He was fine.

All it took was a couple of taps and the message that he was fine (' **I'm fine** ') was sent back in response. Before he could receive any-more spam from his 'old friend', he returned the device to his drenched pocket and let out somewhat (very) exasperated sigh. What next-?

“Uh, sir? You just gunna stand there all night or somethin'?” The teenager asked, a bored drawl threaded all through his voice as Stark returned his attention to the rebellious youth before him. Unsurprisingly, he looked as bored as he sounded.

“Do you have a problem with that, kid?” He responded, the kid just shrugging as he picked up the thin white pole he had sitting beside him, leaning against the door. He spoke as he moved over to the left side of the small stripped awning.

“Not my problem if you wanna get soaked,” With a shrug, the kid used the rod to unhook the awning from the left side – as a result, the retractable cover on that side fell back to it's original position.

Tony moved himself just a bit closer to the right as the rain suddenly just got a whole lot closer.

“There's nothing refreshing like a walking cold shower,” The elder of the two muttered to himself as the teenager just shrugged and took care of the right side, the torrents of rain greeting the both with a cold shock – though it was more so for the billionaire than the commoner. The boy was back in the shop before anything else could really happen, rain-wise.

Not that that mattered or anything though – just when he was finally beginning to stop shivering, the brat took his cover away. Peachy.

A small tapping on the window behind the billionaire caught his attention as he turned to find the boy pointing down the road after he realised he'd gotten the billionaire's attention. The somewhat-retired hero moved his gaze lazily in the direction of the finger, and while it took quite some effort to see through the downpour, he picked up on a light towards the end of the road.

Ah, the laundromat. Right.

Tony nodded in the kid's direction and began to casually moved towards the light (and hopefully, towards shelter) while in the corner of his eye the boy just seemed to shrug and mouth, or say, 'whatever'. Not that he really cared to actually confirm that or not – he was just some random kid he bumped into when he came to, really. He'll probably forget the brat in a day or so.

The rain continued it's harsh assault as Tony moved away from the flower shop, keeping close to the shop-side of the footpath where most places were closed, and some were like the flower shop – closing. Some had those retractable awnings (probably to prevent scandals from damaging them overnight or something) and every now and again there was a tin awning which allowed the man a short dry spot.

But the rain sounded downright painful under a tin surface, so like hell was he going to wait under one of those and blow up his ear drums. Pleasant.

“How far away is that damn laundromat?” The man grumbled to himself, unheard even to his own ears over the pouring rain before his eyes were drawn to an alleyway.

Usually he wouldn't even second glance the thing, it was probably fifteen minutes until it got too dark to really see – make that ten with this damned rain – and he wasn't really in any mood to hike down to some laundromat which didn't seem like it was getting any closer than before.

However about halfway into the alley the door to an apartment complex was lit, and the way it was lit meant dry space – so Tony decided to put his gut feeling aside and just go into the damned alleyway. He was sick of feeling like a wet dog who couldn't get out of the shower no matter what it did.

In retrospect, it was kind of a stupid idea, but alas, this was Tony Stark – he doesn't really think ahead much farther than his own two feet. So naturally, he didn't think he'd noticed something fishy at the end of the alley when he got to the lit apartment entrance, and naturally, his curiosity compelled him to go and check it out.

Though however stupid it was, ironically, he wasn't really that surprised to accidentally walk in on some secret conversation or something. Nor was he surprised for the aftermath – just the after-aftermath. If that made sense.

“Isn't a bit early for shady alley rape?” Two pairs of eyes flew to the billionaire's uncaring face as soon as he spoke, one surprised and outraged, the other... carefully blank. And familiar – he's seen that cerulean shade before, “What? Surprised you got walked in on? My _deepest_ apologies,”

The bulkier of the two moved to speak, though the smaller simply braced a hand on his shoulder and seemed to shake him lightly as if to silently tell him to shut up. The man reluctantly did so, though he clearly wouldn't stay quiet forever.

He seemed that stupid, brainless brutal type – he'll be throwing punches before someone could say hippopotamus. Or maybe banana. Banana was easier to say.

“What is it that you want, Stark?” The smaller of the two asked, cerulean eyes seemingly gazing into the billionaire's very own soul as the rest of him remained near impossible to see thanks to the rain. Was it really possible for someone's eyes to glow like that? Or was Stark still out of it and hallucinating a bit?

Before he could respond, the moron decided he'd had enough of being quiet. Peachy.

“Stark? Like Tony Stark? The rich guy?” The brute piped up in a typical 'brute' voice. Low timbre, stupid sounding, Brooklyn accent – that sounded pretty brute to him. And the sudden interest in him didn't sound to great – will he have to run away from this fat bastard today as well on top of everything?

Though another looking at the lithe guy made him think otherwise – he wouldn't get very far running. That guy looked fast.

“What's it to you, Gaston?” The billionaire snarked back. While the rain really clouded his vision, he'd guess the growl the man gave was accompanied by a glare and maybe another halted move. If Stark was just with this muscle-brained moron, he'd very easily be able to get out of the situation, but this little fiasco looked like pinky had a brain. Brilliant.

“Why you-!”  
“Now now, let's not get violent.” If Stark was anyone else, he would've cringed at how... belittling that statement was to the brute, as if he were naught but a tame-less animal that needed to be cooed with pointless words until it shut up. Then again, the brute kind of was.

“But Lok-” A hand seemed to appear over the brute's mouth as the lithe male moved his attention to the brute in question while Tony just seemed to watch the show.

“Shhhh,” A few moments passed before cerulean eyes were back on the smallest of the trio in the rain. The man of whom was sorely contemplating just leaving before his suspicions were confirmed about this... guy.

Not the stupid guy, the British skinny one.

“Well as fun as this is, I've got things to do, so bye-”

“Not so fast, Stark – I wish to converse with you.” The snake-like guy seemed to breathe out over the rain as he walked towards the billionaire.

Rain poured around them in bucket-loads as the loud noise seemed to make it a silence or sorts, and nothing could really be seen around them – yet the sight issue wasn't so much of one when he suddenly felt no more rain on his head and the noise seem to get a bit more... echo-like.

Brown eyes looked skyward, only to be blocked by what was clearly a black umbrella, which probably explained why it was a bit louder here than near the light.

But that wasn't the issue at point. No, what Tony was concerned with was the fact that he very much recognised the slicked back hair of coal and cerulean eyes that mocked. Yes, he knew this man well enough – he was only just chastised about him, after all, who else could it be? Blue eyes, black hair, green-themed clothes and a snake-y aura. He really needs to get better at this recognising people thing, really.

The man in question seemed to pick up on the fact that he was recognised as his smirk seemed to double in it's velocity, cerulean eyes glowing just that tiny bit more in excitement as he held the umbrella above their heads, leaving that brute to be soaked in the downpour.

“Locke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :D  
> Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter out - I'm kind of working on this story bit by bit and having it constantly checked by my friend so it can be the best it can be :D Doing all my research on PTSD and anxiety and all that fun stuff so I can keep it as accurate as possible as well.  
> I hope I didn't kill any characters for you in this chapter, I tried to keep them as IC as possible haha.  
> If you're curious as to why Loki's eyes are blue, it's because Hiddles' eyes are as this is fully movie!verse :3 And I love blue, because blue :3 Haha.  
> Hope you like C02 of Don't Mention It :D  
> \- Xander

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> I just wanted to give you all an awesome thank you for reading the first chapter of 'Don't Mention It'! I promise things will start getting heated up in a sense come next chapter - the charms of Stark currently being in the dark and all~ Also, while seemingly insignificant, I am a straight guy who's writing this, so don't expect any hardcore sex scene or anything - this is a IronFrost/FrostIron story, but you can't blame me for wanting to keep the bedroom door shut XD This is only my OTP because I'm a sucker for sarcasm and intelligence mixed in a giant pool of 'WTF?' - haha.  
> Also keep in mind that this is 100% movie-verse here, so if it hasn't happened in the movies prior to Iron Man 3/Thor 2 Trailer, it hasn't happened here. I'm going to try and keep Loki's story as vague as I can until Thor 2 comes out because I do want to incorporate that. :)  
> So yes, I hope you'll all like this story of mine, and if this is a ship you want to sail on with me, welcome aboard!  
> \- Xander  
> PS: I'm Australian, so expect some words to be spelled 'weirdly' if you're not from Aus/UK/etc. :)


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